Cath Staincliffe - Go Not Gently

‘You last saw Mr Achebe on the Thursday, the day after you’d followed his wife to this hotel?’

‘Yes. I had to tell him what I’d found out.’

‘How did he take it?’

‘Like anybody would. He was hurt, upset.’

‘Did he give any indication of what he was going to do about it?’

‘No.’ Jimmy hadn’t threatened to kill her. Something I’d heard so many times in marital work. ‘He was hurt, like I say. She was very important to him. When he came to see me, I got the impression he really wanted the marriage to work. Not like some people who’ve already had enough and just want proof for ending the relationship. When did she die? Was she killed or was it suicide?’

‘We’re not in possession of all the facts yet. Mrs Achebe’s body was discovered yesterday morning. Suicide is most unlikely. The man you saw meet Mrs Achebe, can you describe him?’

Murder then. ‘I’ve got a photograph – well, I gave the prints to Jimmy…to Mr Achebe.’

‘And the negatives?’

‘I’ve got them at the office.’

‘We’d like to take them away with us.’

‘Now?’

‘Yes.’

‘It’s round the corner,’ I said, ‘walking distance.’

He stood up. ‘Right, then.’ Sergeant Bell closed her book.

We walked along the road and met Ray, Maddie and Tom coming the other way. I felt embarrassed. Maddie ran to me.

‘Mummy, Mummy. We’ve got chips.’

‘I know. I won’t be long. I’m just popping round to the office for something.’

‘Can I come?’ Maddie clamoured.

‘No, you get the chips ready for me. Sheila’s moving her stuff in.’ I thought she’d throw a tantrum but the news of Sheila defused it and she turned to Ray.

The police followed me downstairs in silence. I retrieved the negatives from the file in the cabinet and handed them over. There was just one strip of shots. ‘There’s a couple of Tina and some of the man.’

Crawshaw held the strip up to the light and squinted, grunted. Slipped them into their envelope and pocketed them.

I walked back home in more awkward silence. It was a relief to say goodbye to the police.

‘We’ll be in touch if there are any further questions,’ Inspector Crawshaw said.

Inside I fielded questions from the children about the police visit, ate my chips and tried to be welcoming to Sheila. What did she think of Manchester?

‘Oh, I love it. I was down in Bury St Edmunds before, small town, so it’s a complete change. I love the theatre and the galleries.’ Flipping heck, when had I last been to either? ‘And there’s some superb concerts. I’ve been to the Royal Northern College a few times. There’s such a lot going on I could spend all my time going out if I’d the money. I never expected it’d be like this.’

‘Still thought we were in clogs and shawls?’

She laughed. ‘Well, not quite. But, the rain, I can’t believe it rains as much as it does, I thought that was part of the myth too.’

‘No, that bit’s true.’ I sorted my remaining chips into edible and not. The ones I rejected were mainly those vicious little sharp bits designed to choke you. ‘People don’t realise. It’s like when they were laying the tram lines. The firm that got the contract were outsiders. About a year after they’d laid it all the lines on Moseley Street started coming unstuck. They had to do it all again. Claimed they’d no idea it would rain so much.’

‘Oh, that’s awful.’

‘And when the Velodrome first went up the roof leaked. Probably be the new Concert Hall next,’ I said.

‘I hope not,’ she said, ‘I intend to be a regular there.’

‘On a student grant?’

‘An occasional regular, then.’

Later I rooted out the evening paper. Tina Achebe was the main story, whole front page. Despite all the ‘Gunchester’ stories a murder is still big news in the city.

There was a photo of the house in Levenshulme, quotes from a neighbour who had heard arguments on the Wednesday night and Thursday morning and had alerted the police when she couldn’t get an answer from the house. The report said there were signs of a violent struggle but there was no detail about the cause of death. There was a grainy photograph of Tina and Jimmy posing formally in front of some blossom trees. Where did they get the photo from? No charges had been brought, the report said, but Mr Achebe was assisting police with their enquiries.

I had a bath, tried to relax. All the while images of Tina and Jimmy churned round my mind. And I struggled to convince myself that whatever had happened I couldn’t be held to blame. I’d just been doing my job. There’d never been any atmosphere of violence around Jimmy. I wouldn’t have taken the work on if I’d sensed anything like that. It was a losing battle. In bed I lay awake far into the night waiting for exhaustion to release me.

Birdsong. A note of cheer on a cold March morning. Then I remembered Tina. Dragged myself out of bed and down to breakfast.

Sheila was there, finding her way round the kitchen. I didn’t think it was fair to confide in her. I’d passed off the police call of the previous evening as routine enquiries.

I had promised Agnes we’d call at Kingsfield but I needed to check if Ray could look after Maddie. We often did separate things at the weekends, each of us only responsible for our own child.

Tom and Maddie were glued to Saturday morning television. I asked them where Ray was. After three goes Tom managed to disengage long enough to answer. ‘He’s taken Digger for a walk.’ I’d have to wait.

They arrived back an hour later. Digger, with mud up to his belly, stank to high heaven. Ray shut him in the kitchen.

‘Can you look after Maddie for a couple of hours?’

‘Sure, when? I said I’d take Tom over to my mother’s.’

‘Nowish. I just need to ring this woman up and check.’ I got through to Agnes. She was ill.

‘Some sort of flu, I think,’ she said. ‘I’m really not up to it.’

‘Shall we leave it till next week?’

Oh, no. You go,’ she urged me on, ‘please; See how she is.’

Flu? Funny how things kept cropping up to prevent Agnes from going to visit Lily.

The snow had gone completely now, leaving a residue of grime where it had trapped the city muck. The sky had a blank, bleak cast. Traffic was thick with Saturday shoppers and visitors.

At the hospital I had trouble parking. By the time I reached the Marion Unit I was feeling as grim as the weather.

Lily was in the dayroom pacing round. She was agitated, rubbing and wringing her hands and muttering to herself. She was smaller than I remembered, the curve in her spine emphasising her short stature. Her permed hair was dishevelled, a flat patch near the crown showing a glimpse of scalp. She wore a plain blue long-sleeved dress and slippers.

The room was busy, fifteen or twenty people, perhaps some visitors. I could only see one nurse in the room, mopping up a spill in the far corner. Someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned round. The man had wiry grey hair sprouting from head, nostrils and ears. Enormous eyebrows. Grand with age. His face was leathery, dotted with liver spots. He took my hand and beamed at me. His whole face alight. A cracking smile. I smiled back. He crushed me to him in a sudden bear hug. I smelt menthol and zinc and the starchy smell of unwashed hair. Just as swiftly he released me and walked away.

Lily had reached the far end of the room, near the bedrooms. I caught up with her and touched her on the arm. ‘Lily, it’s Sal Kilkenny, I came the other day. Agnes asked me to visit, see how you are.’

She glanced at me, her round face flushed. There were tiny beads of perspiration on her nose and her forehead. She pushed her glasses up her nose, looked all about her then took my arm and led me to her room. She stopped beside her bed. I stood awkwardly at her side.